


Little Wolf

by TheRedWulf



Series: Tysan One Shots [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Duke!Tywin, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, OOC, Pregnancy, Regency, Regency Romance, TySan, Wedding Night, non-canon, plot holes, why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Regency - In which Tywin strikes a bargain for the most beautiful woman in society...Picset is viewableHERE





	Little Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little Regency one shot that bounced around in my head. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Special thank you to tommyginger for help with the picset!
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.  
Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/

“Lord Tywin Lannister to see you” Sansa heard the butler tell her father across the hall. While her father worked in his study she had been practising across the hall. Playing her piano, her dearest friend in the world, it was the closest she could get to escaping these dark city walls. Even now as she played the melancholy melody from memory, her mind wandered to the worries of the world.

Once her family had been a large family, but now all that remained was her father, Lord Eddard Stark and Duke of Winterfell, her older brother Robb, the heir and her younger brother Bran. Sickness had taken the others, her Lady Mother, Arya and Rickon, and with them their good fortune had gone as well. 

She was not as ignorant as her father would believe her to be. She knew that after her first season without successfully finding a husband, it would be her last. She would do her best to avoid her elder brother, care for her younger brother and then she would return to her life of spinsterhood. 

The girl who had once dreamed of a family of her own would not get her wish, but she had come to accept that. In this world she had her piano and that would be enough. It had to be enough. At least until they were so destitute that she would be forced to sell it, her heart clenched, that would be the day her spirit broke. 

There was no mistake, they were destitute. The money had all but gone and there was no hope of recovery, not without help. And there was only one man who could help...

Enter Lord Tywin Lannister, the Duke of Casterly Rock and the richest man in society. He was a shrewd business man and notoriously glowering widower. She had only seen him once, from afar, but she had been amazed at his towering height, broad shoulders and the way his cold emerald eyes swept the crowd. He had looked at her, she thought, it might have been wishful thinking to think that a man 20 years a widower had looked at her with any sort of warmth.

Truly he was an intimidating man, all sharp angles and golden features, though his hair was more white than silver these days. His well-kept beard and sideburns were quite dapper, if she were to think on them, a compliment to his high forehead. 

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall but she kept playing, aware that they had paused outside of the music room’s door. She kept playing, focusing on the sad music that filled the air around her and when the song came to an end she paused and turned to see the tall, broad form of Lord Tywin Lannister watching her. 

His sharp emerald eyes were not cold, but held a look that she did not recognize. He wore deep black from head to toe and looked something of a Phantom come to stalk her. 

“Your Grace” she bowed her head obediently, back ramrod straight at the piano bench. 

“Lady Sansa” he replied smoothly. 

“Lord Tywin” her father’s voice cut in and the odd tension was broken. Lord Tywin turned away and Sansa was alone once more. 

She knew that at the very least Lord Tywin would listen to her father’s proposal, and then their fate would hang in the Great Lion’s hands. Turning back to the keys, she played, losing herself to the melody and praying over and over that they would be saved. 

Rumors had been circling for months as to the Stark family fortune and Tywin had not been entirely surprised when Eddard had written to him asking for a brief audience. Between the repairs needed at their estate and the elder son’s philandering ways, they were near destitute. A shame given they were such an old family. 

Upon reading Eddard’s letter and asking to review the financials in person, Tywin had spared a thought for the Stark daughter. Lady Sansa, the toast of last season who did not choose a suitor. His own son Jaime had tried at one point to pursue her, only to be promptly ignored, much to Jaime’s chagrin. 

He had seen her only a handful of times, but the first time he saw her he had been struck at her beauty. She stood taller than the others, porcelain skin and fire in her hair, her sharp jaw a picture of perfection. It had been a long time since a woman had caught his eye, but catch it she had and he was quite thoroughly enraptured by her.

He never had a chance to speak with her, and soon her family had fallen from favor and she was gone from society altogether. 

Upon entering the Stark town house he had heard the terribly sad music drifting through the air. While the butler went in search of Lord Stark, Tywin followed the sound of the music and saw the striking vision of Lady Sansa herself. 

She wore a long sleeve gown of a dark, modest grey, her hair piled into a riot of curls atop her head, baring the curve of her neck. Her eyes were closed as she played, lost to the melody she was playing from memory. She was lovely, he decided, and quite talented. It was a shame to see such beauty go to waste in the country, or worse, in poverty.

When the song came to an end she placed her hands demurely in her lap, glancing at them before she turned to greet him. She felt his presence then, but was not afraid of him. Good, he thought. Her eyes were a bright, crystalline blue, clear and innocent. 

She greeted him and bowed her head, her eyes averted with her throat exposed; wonderful, he felt the lion in his chest raise its head in interest. A beautiful woman, talented and whether she knew it or not, delightfully submissive. How unexpected but wholly welcome. 

Before he could speak with her Lord Stark cut in and the men adjourned to the study. The music reached him once more and his mouth couldn’t help but quirk into a smile at the sound. 

“Lord Stark” Tywin cut in to the man’s reasoning as they discussed the finances. “What you're asking is a considerable fortune.”

“I have exhausted every other effort, Lord Lannister, I would not have bothered you with this were it not a matter of such importance” Eddard sighed, looking utterly defeated. 

“Understandable, a man must do what he can to preserve his family” Tywin nodded, reviewing the papers. “If I may have a bit of time, I would review these closely.” 

“Of course” Lord Stark stood, adjusting his coat. “In a while I will have some tea brought to you, along with something to eat.”

Tywin nodded in thanks and stood to round the desk, pouring over the papers and numbers to see what, if anything, could be done. 

Some time passed and he was nearing the end of his review then the door to the study opened and he looked up to see Lady Sansa carrying in a tray laden with tea and a plate of what looked like lemon cakes. She crossed to the side table and carefully set it down. 

“How do you take your tea, Your Grace?” she asked, hands folded in front of her. 

“Plain is perfectly acceptable” he said, standing to move toward her. Again she did not cower or move from his presence, she stood tall as she poured the tea and plated a cake for him. 

“I can carry it to the desk, Your Grace,” she said softly, finally looking up at him. 

“You are not a servant, Lady Sansa” he said. “Where is the maid?”

“Gone, Your Grace” she replied simply. 

“Have all the staff gone then?” 

“Our butler, Jory has remained” she said. “He is able to help my father and brothers as their valet as well.”

“And what of you, Lady Stark?” he prompted and she lowered her eyes once more. 

“I have no need of maids, Your Grace,” she replied. 

“All ladies need maids” he stated. “Look at me, Lady Sansa” he asked and she looked up to meet his gaze, her own eyes guarded and laced with sadness. “What is it you desire?”

“What I desire matters not” she turned away and carried his cup and plate to the desk. “Wishing does not make things real and reality must take precedence.” She was pragmatic, another humbling facet to her beauty. 

“Your music then, I would assume, is your escape” he ventured and her eyes shot to his once more. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, you are too kind,” she said, giving a curtsey and moving to leave. 

He glanced to the table and then back at her, “Lady Sansa, if the maids have gone, who made the lemon cakes?”

“I did, Your Grace,” she paused her retreat to face him. 

“You care a great deal for your family.”

“I do” she nodded once. 

“If you held the power to save them, would you?”

“In an instant” she curtsied once more and then vanished from the room. 

When Lord Stark finally rejoined him, the two men sat at the desk, this time Tywin behind the Stark antique. 

“Lord Stark” Tywin began. “As I said this is a considerable fortune and favor that you ask, and while it would require substantial work, it is salvageable with proper investment.”

“That is very good news,” Lord Stark exhaled in relief. 

“There is one requirement I have” Tywin leaned back in his chair, elbows bent and steepling his fingers. 

“Which is?” Lord Stark paled. 

“Lady Sansa has been reduced to a maid in her own home” Tywin began and he saw Lord Stark’s shoulders stiffen. “I would take her as my wife, elevate her to the position of Duchess and give you a familial tie to me, which would lend to your restored credibility.” 

“Lord Lannister” Stark shook his head. “I cannot ask that of my daughter--”

“Cannot ask what? Her to marry the richest Duke in the kingdom? I am older, this is true, but I am not yet old enough to be her grandfather” Tywin stated. “I am only slightly older than yourself, this is not unheard of.”

“Lord Lannister, she is young and does not know the ways of the world” Stark reasoned.

“Then let her decide for herself” Tywin suggested. “She is not as stupid as you believe her to be, Lord Stark. Explain it to her and allow her to decide.”

“She does not know you, Lord Lannister---”

“Then I will speak with her” Tywin’s patience was at an end. He stood, rising to his full height and followed the sound of music once more. Lord Stark followed behind him then moved in front of him. 

“Let me speak with her first” Lord Stark halted his movements. “Just a few moments.” Tywin nodded his head in acknowledgement and returned to the study to wait. When a quarter of an hour had passed he stood, ready to storm into the music room, but before he could move the door opened to reveal the slender form of Lady Sansa. 

Silently she closed the door behind herself, a scandalous notion that told him everything he needed to know. She would accept him and she would be his wife. 

“It is worse than I thought then” she crossed to the papers, glancing over them. “Robb’s whoring, Bran’s doctors” she picked up a report on the coal mines in Winterfell but set it quickly aside. “The debt must be large if you seek a bride price. Surely I am not worth so much.”

“It is considerable, but not insurmountable,” he replied. “The bride price is...an indulgence.”

“Indulgence” she looked at him, confused at his wording. 

“I want you, Lady Sansa” he saw no need to speak in half-truths. “And I will have you. Now as my bride or in a years time, when you’re ruined, I shall take you as my mistress.”

“Me” she said softly. 

“You” he assured her. “If you agree to become Lady Sansa Lannister, my Duchess, I will ensure that the Stark family does not meet ruin.”

“Why me, Your Grace?”

“I find you singularly beautiful” he explained. “I have thought so since I saw you at Lady Hightower’s ball. You’re clearly a talented pianist and you are a woman that I believe would suit my proclivities.”

“You did see me at the ball then” she said quietly, crossing to the window. “I had wondered.”

“I did, as you saw me,” he said. 

“And your proclivities?” she asked shyly, eyes downcast. 

“A discussion better left to husband and wife” he stated. 

“Lord Baelish once told me that a girl like me would make a powerful man very happy with such obedience” she said softly, barely audible in the study. 

“Did he touch you?” Tywin glared. 

“He tried” Sansa turned away. “I did not let him.”

“Good, I would hate to have to kill him for touching what is mine” he crossed to the side table and poured himself a measure of scotch. 

“Am I yours already?” she asked as he walked over to her side, looking up at him. 

“That is your decision to make, Lady Sansa” he sipped his drink. “But judging by the closed door, you have already made your choice.”

“I have” she gave a small nod. “I will marry you, Your Grace. All I ask is that my life does not go without music, I could not bear it…”

“You will have music, Lady Sansa” he promised her, finishing his scotch. “And passion enough to play it.”

“I know nothing of passion, Your Grace,” she said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“As your husband, it would be my honor to teach you” he set his glass aside and moved closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. He could feel she wore no stays, an interesting bit of knowledge that allowed him to feel the dip and curve of her waist. Lady Sansa was a woman made to bear children, and she would bear his and only his. 

Sansa felt light-headed as Lord Tywin’s arm wrapped around her, guiding her against his tall, powerful form. This man, this dangerous, mysterious man was to be her husband. A few short hours ago she wondered if had actually seen her in the ballroom and now they were to be wed. 

_ “You don’t have to do this, I will find another way” her father had pleaded with her._

_ “There is no other way or you would not have gone to him to begin with” she patted her father’s hand. “I will do this. Lord Tywin will take care of me, of all of us.” She could only hope that was true. _

Now, in Lord Tywin’s embrace she was overwhelmed. He wanted her, he’d said, and he would have her now or later, when she was truly desperate. She would not be foolish enough to doubt his words. 

She looked up into his leonin gaze, realizing now that the expression he had watched her with earlier in the music room was desire. This was not lewd, selfish lust, but the heat of desire, a man who would give pleasure as he received it. 

“You will teach me” she heard her own breathless words as his second arm joined the first, banding around her. Her hands went to his waistcoat to steady herself, he was quite a bit taller than her and she was unsteady on her tiptoes. 

“I will” he replied. “I will teach you everything you need to know about pleasure, Lady Sansa.”

“And my family” she whispered. 

“Should your father heed my advice, he will not meet with ruin” he assured her. 

“Thank you” she whispered as he leaned closer. 

“Have you ever been kissed before?” he asked and she felt her cheeks warm further. 

“No, Your Grace,” she whispered. 

“I am going to kiss you, Sansa” he said quietly. “Be a good girl and kiss me back.”

Before she could reply his lips met hers, gently at first but his firm lips were insistent and commanding, like the man himself. Obediently, her hands grabbed his lapels to anchor herself as one of his hands slid to her head guiding her to tilt her head and allow his tongue entrance to her mouth. A gasp escaped her lips but he swallowed the sound, kissing her in the most sinful way as she clung to him. 

When the hand not in her hair moved to the curve of her hip, guiding her flush to his body she felt every muscle and the hard, thick length of him against her stomach. She had accidentally seen Robb with a woman once, though had turned her stomach, she knew the very basics of relations between a man and woman, but feeling Lord Tywin in such a condition had her heart racing and her legs weak. 

When eventually he did release her mouth, her lips felt swollen, skin chafed from his beard and her body felt as if the slightest touch was electric. Licking her lips she could taste him, the tea and lemon cakes, and she looked up into his dark eyes, lust lingering there.

“My my” he removed his hand from her hip, dragging it up the side of her body, barely skirting passed her breasts to smooth his fingers across her cheekbone. “So beautiful, my Little Wolf.”

“My Lord---” she began but her words died when the door to the study opened and her father strode inside. She felt her cheeks burn and she looked away, effectively hiding her face in Lord Tywin’s lapel. 

“Lord Lannister” her father’s voice was cold, aloof. 

“Lord Stark” Tywin’s deep voice rumbled against her body, reminding her that they were still pressed together from chest to knee. “My solicitor will draw an agreement and the banns will be read. I will marry Lady Sansa in a fortnight or less.”

At this she looked up at him, surprised to see the possessive clench of his jaw. He held her firmly, even in the presence of her father, unashamed of consequence. 

What consequence, she repeated in her head. He will be her husband, soon. There is no reason for him to fear a consequence of being caught with her. She, however, would have to be careful of Lord Tywin. He was determined to have her and so she would need to be determined to have his last name before he ruined her completely. 

Her determination was not necessary. Beyond their initial kiss, Lord Tywin was the picture of a perfect gentleman. He paid court to her in the fortnight before their wedding, working with her father to settle their agreement and then sitting with her in the music room while she played or the drawing room so they could converse. 

She found Lord Tywin to be a rather interesting man. While he was the richest man in society, he seemed to rather enjoy simpler things. Plain tea, her lemon cakes and old music. He brought her a piece of music, upon their first day of courting, and she had smiled, already knowing the piece quite well. On that day, he sat in the window of the music room and watched as she played the “Rains of Castamere” for him. His smile had been full of contentment as he watched her, eyes laced with kindness. 

Her brother Robb, much to her embarrassment, did nothing but glare at Lord Tywin. She had tried to apologize for her brother’s behavior but Tywin had merely taken her hand with a smile and assured her that she no longer had to make excuses for her family. 

No, she realized, she was going to be a Lannister soon and then she would have to deal with the whole of society rather than just her family. Pausing as she finished pinning her hair, her face fell, she wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with society. Not as the poor Stark girl and not as the Duchess of Casterly Rock. Society was filled with terrible men and cruel women, neither of which she was in a rush to reacquaint herself with. 

A knock came at the door a moment before her father entered, looking as dour as if they were going to a funeral. 

“Sansa” he said quietly. “It’s time.” 

“Alright” she carefully stood and smoothed the skirt of her new ivory dress, her wedding dress. She was quickly bundled into a pelisse and then they were off, in a carriage heading to the church where she would be tied to Tywin Lannister forever. 

“Sansa” her father said as they rode. “I am sorry--”

“Do not apologize,” she assured him with a forced smile she hoped looked genuine. “Just promise me that you will curb Robb’s behavior. He has already cost us so much.”

“And now he has cost me you” her father said sadly. 

“He has” she whispered, looking out the window. “I will visit when I can--”

“If he lets you” her father replied. 

“He is not an evil man” she found herself defending her soon-to-be-husband. “Just promise me you will control Robb and follow Lord Tywin’s advice.”

“I will” he promised as they reached the church. 

Sansa took a deep breath as she emerged from the carriage, silently praying that she was making the right decision. There were so many people, all of them watching her as she moved up the steps on her father’s arm. 

The eyes of Lord Tywin’s son, caught hers as she walked and she looked way, unable to bear the scorn in his green eyes. Lord Jaime had once made attempts to court her but she had heard of his rakish ways and would not allow him close enough to seduce her. Now she would be his step-mother, she inwardly cringed, lowering her eyes to the stones as she walked. 

She was terrified, he could see as much in her eyes as she spoke her vows and once more as she picked at her evening meal. He wished that he could assure her that he meant to take good care of her, that she would be safe and protected. Any such sentiment would have to be uttered in the privacy of their chambers, never in public. 

Lady Sansa Stark was no longer, she was now Lady Sansa Lannister, the Duchess of Casterly Rock and the Great Lion’s wife. It had been over two decades since he’d had a wife, he was rather looking forward to having Sansa on his arm at all times. She would be a respected member of the peerage and he would ensure his wife was treated properly. She was his to protect, his to care for and his to pleasure. 

Now, as he entered the master’s chambers, he would be able to allay her of her fears. Now he could show her that he was not the cold, dispassionate man everyone assumed him to be. His eyes found her instantly, her tall, slender but curvy form was silhouetted in the large window, clad in a robe with her hair unbound to her hips. 

At the sound of his entrance she turned to face him with wide eyes, her skin unnaturally pale, “Your Grace---”

“We are wed now, my dear” he assured her. “In public you may call me Lord Husband or, should you decide to, any affectionate name. Here in our rooms, you may call me Tywin.”

“Tywin” she said softly, as if testing the name on her lips. “May I…”

“Go ahead” he encouraged her. 

“I would prefer Ty, should that be acceptable to you,” she asked quietly. 

“That would be acceptable, my dear” he moved to the bed, sitting on the edge to remove his tall boots. She watched him raptly as he shed the boots and his jacket, rising to his full height once more. 

“I had thought,” she admitted. “That the boots were what made you seem so imposing, but I find you are equally as such in your bare feet.”

“I have always been a tall man” his mouth curved into a smile. “Just as you are a tall woman. We are well matched, an imposing couple I dare say.”

“You speak of us as if we are horseflesh” she mused. 

“We are all flesh, man and animal alike” he moved to the tray that he had brought up with food and wine, knowing that she hadn’t eaten much at dinner. He poured her a small measure of wine and watered it before pouring his own glass of wine. Extended the glass to her she paused. 

“I do not imbibe, My Lord--Ty” she corrected. 

“It is watered,” he placed it in her hands. “Trust me” he soothed, raising his glass. “To our wedding and marriage.”

“May I not disappoint you” she said softly after their glasses met, quiet enough that she likely thought he did not hear. He did not address it, though wondered at what sort of household Lord Stark ran if this woman’s self worth was so terribly tattered. 

“How do you feel? Tell me honestly?” he asked after a brief silence. 

“Afraid” she replied without looking at him, instead she stared at her glass. 

“There is no reason to be afraid, not of me,” he said. “I have promised to care for you and cherish you, I would never hurt you.”

“You also promised to love me, but there is no love here,” she said sadly. “Only business.”

“If you think that my wanting you was only a matter of ‘business’, then you are sorely mistaken,” he assured her. He was grateful for her honesty, her candid confessions, it would make their marriage easier. 

“Men have made no secret of wanting me” she frowned and set her barely touched glass aside. “Lord Baelish wanted to toy with me, spoke of unspeakable things, and Robb _fucks_ women with such violence that it terrifies me. Is that what it is about? Pain? Anger?” he was shocked at her language but the way she spoke it was the only term that fit what her brother had exposed her to.

“Say the word and Lord Baelish is dead,” he told her, his tone cold but not harsh. “And your brother is not a man, he is a spoiled boy. While there is some pleasure to be found for both parties in pain, merely fucking a woman in anger, with rage is never acceptable.”

“I am afraid” she said once more and he took one of her trembling hands in hers, setting his glass aside. 

Without a word he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles first. Trailing across her porcelain flesh he kissed the joint of her thumb before rotating her hand to kiss the palm. 

“Look at me” he bid her and she obeyed, turning to meet his eyes. “Trust me” he implored her, kissing her inner wrist, letting his tongue trace across her flesh. She sighed softly and he continued, coaxing her gently as he would a skittish colt, luring her to his side. 

Sansa watched as the Great Lion kissed his way from her wrist to her elbow, moving her robe’s sleeve aside to continue further up. His touch was surprisingly soft, featherlight against her skin and, admittedly, pleasureable. 

The only visual she had of coupling was her brother and the woman, a whore most likely, and it made her sick to think of. The girl had been crying as Robb took her, bent over and held down like a possession. Sansa would always be ashamed that she did not step in to help her, she had been so afraid that she had run, collapsing in her room to cry. 

Tywin was so much larger than her she was afraid of what he would be capable of, should she anger him. She had done her best to be brave today, to stand tall in the face of fear while they spoke their vows and sat at their wedding dinner. But deep down she was scared that he would tear her apart. 

When he reached her upper arm he moved, stepping closer to her and pulling the neck of her robe to the side, exposing her shoulder and continuing his kisses. 

“Ty” she jumped when she felt his teeth graze the column of her throat. It did not hurt, only surprised her as heat flooded her body. 

“I promised as your husband that I would teach you about pleasure” he said, his breath dancing across her neck as he pulled her ear lobe into her mouth, suckling gently. Her hand shot out instinctively, holding on to his waistcoat to steady herself. 

As he released her ear he kissed across her jaw, nibbling gently until he reached her mouth. Just like in her father’s study, Tywin’s embrace consumed her, wrapping her tightly as he kissed her. She felt him pressed to her, the thin material of her robe allowing her to feel every inch of him. This time she tilted her head without his guidance and he delved into her mouth, his tongue tasting her. 

His hands traveled the silk of her robe, stroking her body with a soft touch she would not have expected from such an imposing man. Rather than feeling afraid she felt beautiful, almost worshipped. His hands settled on her hips as he pulled back to look into her eyes. Blinking free of the haze she looked up at her husband and his soft expression. 

“Are you still afraid?” he asked. 

“A little” she replied, licking her swollen lips. 

“I would never hurt you, Little Wolf” he assured her. 

“I will try not to be afraid,” she said softly, eyes focused on his cravat. “Perhaps after the first time…”

“I agree, Little Wolf” he leaned down to kiss her softly. “Fear of the unknown is understandable.”

“The unknown” she whispered, realizing that was what scared her so much. 

“I promised to teach you,” he said, his voice deep, but soothing. “Allow me to start” his hand went to the tie of her robe, pulling it loose and allowing the material to part. She felt exposed as the cool air touched her bare skin, resisting the urge to close her eyes, she looked instead to her husband. She watched him, his emerald eyes now dark as they travelled over her nudity. His eyes were hungry, predatory and all because of her. He _wanted_ her and it made her feel powerful. 

Hesitantly she reached out to him, her fingers moving to the pearl buttons on his waistcoat. She undid them one by one, the rich material then open and she ran a hand over his lawn shirt, feeling the strong form beneath it. 

His waistcoat fell forgotten to the floor and she looked back into his eyes as his arm wrapped around her bare waist, beneath her robe. His hand was warm, blazing a trail across her flesh and she gasped softly as he hauled her into his arms. 

He carried her to the large bed, laying her gently across the coverlet. The action had her robe parting wide and baring her completely to his eyes. She watched him, his large hands moving to his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before he moved to his breeches. His chest was broad, lean and covered with blonde and silver hair. Hey eyes widened as his breeches were discarded, leaving him just in his small clothes that did nothing to hide the hard length of him. He moved, smooth and silent like a cat, crawling onto the bed and over her body. 

“Little Wolf” he kissed her softly, a hand moving to stroke her bare skin, cupping her breast, thumb skating over her nipple. Her breath caught and she felt the touch jolt through her, settling low in her belly. When he removed his lips from hers she wasn’t sure of what he was doing, but when he guided her nipple into his mouth she couldn’t stifle the cry that left her lips. She felt the drag of his tongue across the peak, circling it and suckling deeply. 

“Ty” she gasped, her hand moving to his shoulder, clinging to him as if to anchor herself. He did not reply, merely continued his worship of her breast before moving away to give the other breast the same treatment. 

She felt out of control, her body writhing and arching toward his, the place between her legs throbbing and embarrassingly wet as she tried to quell the flames. When he moved away, he did not return to her lips, only moved lower, kissing her stomach, hip and then turning to the red curls at the apex of her thighs. 

His large hands moved to her inner thighs, parting her legs and her body for his viewing pleasure. It felt sinful, knowing that he was looking at the most intimate part of her. 

“Beautiful” he parted her with his fingers and leaned forward, lapping at her in a long, slow lick. 

Her hands gripped the counterpane, body trembling as her husband licked and ate at her core, his large hands holding her in place. His teeth gently grazed her and she cried out, eyes slamming closed as she tried to remain in control of her body. 

“Sansa” his breath was warm against her body, lips barely touching her folds. “Let it come to you, Little Wolf, relax and do not fight against it,” he told her. “Trust me, Little Wolf.” She was barely able to give a nod as his mouth returned to her body. This time she tried to breathe deeply, relaxing her body to his touch, trusting him as he asked her to. 

He moved with determination and soon her breath was stolen from her body as she cried his name. A shiver of fear washed through her, followed quickly by lust and a desire so sharp she felt it in every inch of her body. It crested, her thighs shaking and then her body arching as she choked out a sob of pleasure. 

His tongue slowed, then moved from her body as she went lax against the bed, “Good girl” he praised, wiping his face briefly on the sheets, not before she saw that her body had soaked his beard and mouth. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her fluids on such a public part of her husband. Would he want her to do the same?

Moving back over her, she noticed he had shed his small clothes and was now bare before her. Like the golden curls on his chest, they surrounded the base of his proud manhood, the long, thick length sending a fresh wave of fear through her. How was he supposed to fit inside of her? A memory of Robb hurting the girl flashed in her mind and she looked away from her husband. 

Sensing her thoughts he kissed her jaw, “It will fit, and I will not hurt you, Little Wolf.” His hand went to her core, “You feel how wet you are for me, how hot and ready your body is to take my cock” he teased her now with his fingers, and she felt the jolts travel through her once more. 

“Tis unseemly” she gasped and he smiled, kissing her lips softly. 

“It is not unseemly for a wife to want her husband” he whispered against her mouth. “For a woman to ache for the pleasure of a man’s touch. And you, wife, are a woman made for pleasure.”

“Ty” she panted as her body began to shake under his hand. 

“When you come for me, Little Wolf” he promised her. “I am going to fill you with my cock, every last bit of it. There will be pain, but it will not last. If I could avoid it, I would, but as you are a maid I cannot, so I seek to make this as easy as possible.”

“I trust you” she said softly, looking to his deep emerald eyes in the dim candlelight. She refused to let herself look to his manhood, even as she felt it, hot and heavy against her thigh. If she did, she would be afraid and she was trying to hard to be brave for him. As he asked. He had already been far more patient and gentle with her than she would have imagined, pleasure thrumming through her at his touch. 

His lips took hers in a deep, sloppy kiss and he swallowed her cries as he stroked her core. She felt it coming this time, unafraid of it and embracing it as her body fell over the edge. His fingers left her core and then she felt the blunt head of him, the hot flesh dragging through her moisture and then pushing inside. He slid deep, not forcefully but with a firm movement that had her body breaking and parting under his until she felt so incredibly full that she tried to push him away. 

“Ssh, Little Wolf, easy” he grabbed her hands and pinned them to the mattress beside her head. “Look at me” he demanded and she opened her eyes to look into her husband’s. “Breathe” he told her, holding himself over her on his elbows. Her hips and hands were pinned, but he wasn’t trying to hurt her, he wasn’t rutting into her without care. In fact, he hadn’t moved since he slid inside of her. 

“It hurts” she whispered. 

“It will pass,” he assured her, resting his forehead to hers. “There will never be pain again.” 

She gave a small nod and swallowed the lump in her throat, “It’s inside?” she asked in a small voice. 

“Every last bit, Little Wolf” he replied with a soft smile against her lips. “Snug to your womb.”

“That is why I feel so full,” she noted. 

“I would imagine so” he agreed. “I am going to move, are you ready?” She gave another nod and then his hips began to rock, slowly, barely moving at all. There was an ache, the sharp pain gone, but she felt him so deeply inside of her it was intoxicating. “Good girl” he praised as she forced herself to relax. She felt the deep timbre of his words echo through her, warming her in the oddest way. 

His hands flexed around hers as he moved, their fingers twined and palms touching, connecting them. Soon he was moving deeper, her hips tilting to take him inside of her and she felt the ache fade to burning pleasure. The man above her, the Great Lion and Duke of Casterly Rock, her husband, was a picture of masculine power. Muscles bunched and flexed, his expression intense and possessive as he took her. He was the only man to have her, that would ever have her, and his powerful body was determined to imprint itself upon her. 

His jaw clenched as he moved, his breathing harsh, punctuated with growls. She could see the pleasure in his features, the way his body was surrendering to hers, even as he penetrated her. She felt powerful and beautiful once more, in control of this universally feared man. 

His thrusts sped and then he shoved himself deep, pressing against her in a way that made her arch away and then she felt him tremble above her. He growled, claiming her lips in a fierce kiss as his warmth filled her, coated her and sent a shiver through her.

“Little Wolf” he whispered, kissing her briefly as he caught his breath.

“Thank you” she replied quietly, searching his gaze. “For not hurting me…”

“I vowed you cherish and protect you, Little Wolf,” he told her. “I will never raise a hand to you in anger, I would never force myself on you.”

She felt her cheeks heat, “If all wifely duties are as pleasurable as this, then you will not have to force me.” 

“Good” he kissed her softly before his body slid from hers and she felt the sticky mess on her thighs. “Because I intend to take you often, Little Wolf, and someday soon I would have you come on my cock” he added as he moved away, grabbing a towel and the wash basin. He carefully cleaned her core, then his manhood where she saw the small stain of blood on the cloth. 

It was done, she was his Duchess now, in all ways. 

He moved back to the bed and helped her beneath the blankets, blowing out the tapers before sliding in beside her. Unsure of what to do, she waited until he pulled her against his body, the warmth of his seeping into hers. Her core ached and throbbed, but there was no pain, just delicious soreness.

She felt his lips graze her bare shoulder, but her body felt heavy and soon she was slipping into slumber. 

Tywin breathed deeply, the clean, salty sea air cleansing his body of the filth of the city. He stood on the large stone veranda outside of his private study, taking a break from the stack of missives he had waiting from the capitol. 

Music reached his ears and he turned, smiling into the breeze as his wife’s playing danced on the air. Walking further up the veranda he found the glass doors to the music room open and his wife sitting behind the large piano playing a beautiful swirling piece that bled into a nocturne that pulled at his chest. 

As before, she read no sheet music, she simply played, eyes closed as she lived through the music. 

In the city he had found her singularly lovely, beauty beyond compare, but here in Lannisport she had blossomed. Her lush curves had filled out and she wore dresses befitting her station, she looked every inch the proud Duchess she now was. 

They had come to Casterly Rock at the end of the season, both of them anxious to be away from the overcrowded balls and watchful eyes of society. They had been married nearly four moons now, settling into life as man and wife. 

He was correct in his first assessment of her, she was a very obedient and submissive wife, but strong and intelligent, something he hadn’t expected but greatly enjoyed. Even in town it had proved greatly enjoyable to have her on his arm at parties. 

_ They watched as Lady Margaery made a fool of herself, trying to get the king and crown prince’s attention. It was an informal gathering, only the highest of society in attendance but still Lady Margaery was trying her best. Sansa stood tall and elegant on Tywin’s arm, unflinching in the face of those who gawked at them. There were some who still found it hard to believe that the young, beautiful Lady Sansa Stark had married the Great Lion, and seemed happy about such a match._

_ “Lady Lannister,” Robert Baratheon’s voice broke into their observation and Tywin felt his wife stiffen beside him. “Would you do us the honor of a song?” he asked loudly, all eyes turning to them._

_ Sansa looked up to him, her eyes outwardly impassive but he saw the hesitancy there, “Ty” she whispered the term of endearment. _

_ “Oh, but I can play, Your Majesty” Lady Margaery spoke up, drawing everyone’s eyes to hers. Robert looked momentarily befuddled but acquiesced, escorting the young woman to the piano. _

_ Taking the opportunity, Tywin leaned down to his wife’s ear, “She’ll no doubt humiliate herself, and then, should you wish it, ‘The Rains of Castamere’, for me.”_

_ Sansa did not reply, her eyes focused on where Lady Margaery was playing with great enthusiasm but no real skill. Sansa’s hand tightened on his arm and he couldn’t help but smile. His wife’s talent and beauty was unmatched, and soon they would see._

_ When Lady Margaery’s ‘song’ came to an end she stood with a flourish and gave a curtsey before moving back to her grandmother, Lady Olenna's side. _

_ All eyes then swung to them, expectant and wide-eyed. Tywin felt Sansa’s hand squeeze his forearm once more and they were moving together, Lord and Lady as one, as he escorted her to the piano. Proudly he took the sheet music and closed the book, knowing that she would not need it. _

_ He took her hand as she sat, back straight and perfect as she removed her gloves and handed them to him. He held them tightly, watching as she took a deep breath. The soft key strokes began and the room fell silent, every soul knowing that the ancient Lannister song had begun._

_ “And who are you, the proud Lord said, that I must bow so low” her voice rang, crystal clear in the ballroom, cutting through him and pinning his feet to the floor. He had never heard her sing, but her voice was enchanting. Though her eyes had drifted closed, her face tilted to where she knew he stood, smiling softly._

_ He watched with pride as she sang, every gaze on her in rapture. When the final notes rang and her hands slowed to a stop, applause filled the room. As Tywin moved back to her side a thud echoed in the room and he turned to see Robb Stark storm from the room. Fortunately no one else paid him much mind. He handed his wife her gloves and she pulled them back on before taking his hand to stand._

_ “You sing beautifully” he cupped her cheek, a bold move in front of the entire room._

_ “Thank you” she blushed beautifully as he escorted her away. They were stopped, however, when Lord Baelish appeared in their path and Sansa when stiff as the dead._

_ “Well met, Lady Lannister” Lord Baelish said smoothly. _

_ “Thank you, My Lord” she gave the slightest bow of her head. _

_ “You look radiant---”_

_ “That is quite enough” Tywin said cooly, making it damn clear that Sansa was his wife, and his alone. _

_ “Husband” Sansa turned to him, eyes pleading. “I believe the song has overwhelmed me.”_

_ She was lying, but he nodded, “Of course, my dear” he lead her away from Baelish and the party. Tywin did not look back, but he could feel Baelish’s cold eyes on him as they departed, the sly man up to no good._

He had inquired as to Baelish’s situation, and while the man had no financial troubles, he had made his share of enemies through his schemes and blackmail plots. Still, Tywin would have Baelish as far away from Sansa as possible. She was _his_ wife, _his_ Duchess and he would not be parted from her. 

Her playing came to an abrupt stop as a servant entered the music room and handed her an urgent missive. She broke the seal and read quickly, a trembling hand coming to her mouth as a sob broke free. His feet were moving before he could register it, moving into the balcony doors and to her side.

“Sansa” by the time he reached her tears streamed down her face. “Sansa--” he broke off when she thrust the letter into his hands. 

Looking to the seal it was from her father, Lord Stark. He turned it and read the short missive quickly. Robb was dead, killed in a duel and Bran would now have to be the Stark heir. Her father apologized profusely, repeating over and over how sorry he was that she had been sold to save a family not worthy of her. 

Frowning, Tywin looked to his wife who was silently crying, her hands on the keys of the piano but not moving. 

“Sansa” he said softly. 

“Stupid boy!” she slammed her hands onto the keys, the loud noise filling the room as she stood, pacing away. “Spoiled, selfish, STUPID BOY!” she yelled. He had never heard her speak loudly, let alone raise her voice and could only watch as she raged. “Drinking, gambling, whoring, dueling---when he should be acting like a man!” she seethed. “Stupid, stupid boy” she cursed and choked on a sob. 

“Sansa” he moved closer, which was fortunate because in that moment her legs gave way, her body collapsing in a near faint. He caught her, lowering them both to the floor of the music room. Tossing Stark’s letter aside he shook her back to herself, only to have her begin crying, great gasping sobs against his chest. “Stupid boy” he said softly as she cried out her rage. 

Her hands fisted in his lapels, holding tightly to him as he did to her. 

He had carried her to bed that afternoon, ordering a tray of food brought up and they did not emerge for the remains for the remains of the day. He held her while she slept, ensuring she was safe until sleep took him as well. 

He woke to the sound of her retching and he sat up quickly to see her in her shift, bent over the wash basin. He moved from the bed and to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“I am well” she said softly, rinsing and cleaning her mouth. 

“You should rest” he told her. 

“I am sorry” she said so quietly that he almost did not hear her. “I am so sorry that my father wasted your time….”

“Wasted my time?” he repeated.

“The Stark family cannot even help itself” she gagged once more and covered her mouth. “And you’ve been saddled with me, only for the Starks to implode regardless.”

He carefully wet a towel with his free hand and wiped her face and neck, “You will stop this nonsense about me being ‘saddled’ with you, Sansa Lannister. Not only is it untrue, it is foolish to think such. I told you once before that I would have had you regardless, I would have made damned sure that you belonged to me.” 

She swayed on her feet but looked up at him. She looked exhausted, eyes red and swollen and face stained with tears, but she was still his wife and still beautiful, “Why?”

“Don’t be a damned fool” he wiped her cheeks with the damn cloth but she shoved his hand away. 

“Answer me!” she argued. “Tell me! Am I possession? An object to show off? Why?!”

“You’re grieving--”

She moved away from his arms then, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, “I am a human, as much as you. I am no object without heart or feeling. I am your wife, not your possession.”

“Damned you---”

“Damn me, indeed” she laughed, shaking her head. “Will you ever love me? Or at the very least, love our child?” she asked, her hands covering her womb. 

He froze then, looking to the wash basin and then his wife, “You’re with child?” 

“I am” she sobbed. “I have not bled since our wedding,” she told him. 

“Why did you not tell me?” he demanded. 

“I am afraid” she confessed. 

“Afraid? Of what?!” but she did not answer, only looked away and he moved forward, taking her shoulders. “Afraid of what?” 

“That you would not want me!” she yelled, trying to push away from him, but he held her tight. “That you would move me to the Duchess’ rooms and you would be done with me,” she sobbed. “That you would forget about me and I did not want to be parted from you, you stupid man!” 

“Gods, Sansa. No” he shook his head. 

“I was so afraid of you, afraid of marriage, of being your wife” she sobbed. “And now, I am afraid of being parted from you, of being cast aside and left alone---I have spent my life alone, I do not wish to be alone any longer!”

He pulled her tightly into his embrace, against the wall of his chest and buried his face into her hair. Her sobs shook them both, the force of her emotions twisting like a knife in his heart and he understood what she refused to say. She loved him. Somehow this beautiful, young creature had fallen in love with him, the man who had bartered and stolen her from her family, simply because he wanted her.

“Please, do not leave me” she sobbed, over and over. “I do not want to go...I do not want to go...”

“No one is going anywhere, Little Wolf” he assured her, lifting her and carrying her back to the bed. As he moved to lower her to the counterpane, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to hers, refusing to let him go. 

He met her brutal kiss with his own, crawling over her on the bed. He knew that she needed this, she needed the assurance, however physical, that he was here. That they were together. For the first time in their marriage she took control, pushing away their bed clothes and stroking his cock until he growled in frustration. 

“Enough” he growled, parting her legs to align himself and thrusting deep. She cried out, head lolling back against the pillows as her legs wrapped around him. 

It was hard, rough, possessive and claiming, both of them desperate for the other. Her nails dug into his back as his hands fisted in her hair, fucking her roughly into the feather mattress. He tilted her head back, breaking their kiss to trail bites and kisses across her neck and shoulder, savouring each of her gasps and moans. 

His hand moved then to her throat, not tightening but wrapping around the column of flesh, his thumb tilting her chin so her gaze met his, “No one is going anywhere, Little Wolf” he promised as fucked her harder, her breasts bouncing with each movement. “I am not sending you anywhere, child or no. I am keeping you right fucking here” he growled. “In this house, in this bed, for the rest of our fucking days” he hissed. “Is that clear? You are mine, Sansa Lannister, mine” he promised and he felt her gasp, muscles of her throat contracting as she swallowed and then screamed as her peak took her. 

He kept pace, fucking her through her climax until her juices covered them both, and only then did he slam fully inside of her and let himself come, filling her in long, deep pulses. 

He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily as he pulled her to his side and kissed her gently. 

“Ty” she rasped, her voice rough from crying and yelling. 

“I will never send you away” he promised her, cupping her face, thumb stroking her cheek. “Never.”

“Promise me” she whispered. 

“I promise you, on my honor as a Lannister” he assured her and she smiled, eyes finally losing their tinge of despair. 

“That’s rather serious” she whispered. 

“I’m rather serious” he promised and she moved into his embrace, holding him tightly. 

They ventured for Winterfell, the Stark estate, several days later and by the time they arrived a fortnight later, Tywin could see a marked change in his wife’s body. Her stomach had begun to round, if slightly, and her breasts were nearly too full for her gowns. 

He smirked with pride as the carriage bounced along the Northern roads, her lush body beside his. He had done that, he smirked, he had planted the seed that had transformed her thus and he was damned proud. 

When his hand wandered to her thigh for the hundredth time she batted it away, smiling over at him, “We’re almost there” she chided. “I know these woods.”

“I will not hesitate to take you in your father’s house” he promised her. 

“I would expect nothing less, husband” she countered as they rounded a bend and the great stone estate came into view. It was an impressive home to be sure, if only its master’s were as great, he sighed to himself. 

When they came to a stop at the front steps, a footman opened the carriage and Tywin emerged to see Lord Stark and his last son, Bran, at the top of the steps. Tywin turned and helped Sansa from the carriage, her deep black gown looking rather sinister in the cold Northern light. 

“Lemon cake” her father greeted her, kissing her forehead. 

“Father” she said, her tone somber. 

“You’re looking well” Lord Stark gave a sad smile. 

“I am well” she turned as Tywin reached them, taking his arm. 

“Thank you for coming” Lord Stark shook Tywin’s hand. 

“There is no need to thank me” Tywin nodded. “And I am sorry for your loss.”

“As am I” Lord Stark glanced to Sansa and Tywin could tell that he counted not only Robb, but Sansa as a loss as well. Tywin could only grimace at that. 

Lord Stark led them up the stairs where Sansa greeted her younger brother with a hug, careful of his crutches. 

“You’ve grown so much, Bran” she kissed her brother’s cheek.

“I have missed you” Bran smiled through his sadness and they all turned to move inside and out of the cold. 

Sansa walked into the crypts of Winterfell, carrying a torch, candles and several handwritten notes as she made her way past her ancestors to her immediate family. Robb had been laid to rest that morning in a somber, quiet ceremony. She had clung to Tywin’s arm as her father spoke the prayers and Robb’s body was encased in the crypt beneath the pedestal that would hold his statue. 

Afterwards, Tywin had bundled her in his cloak to ward off the early snows, and escorted her to the house where they shared a small luncheon. When Tywin was called to her father’s study she told him that she was going to pay respects to her family. He merely kissed her forehead and insisted she wear a cloak. 

She grabbed her fur-lined cloak with fur across the shoulders from her childhood bedroom, grateful it was long enough, and made her way to the tombs.

Setting the torch into the rack on the wall, she lit several candles placing them with her mother, arya, rickon and Robb. She prayed softly for each of them, then placed the notes at the feet of her mother’s and sister’s statues. 

“I am going to have a baby,” she told her mother’s statue. “Ty has an heir, so perhaps it is not too sinful of me to wish for a daughter,” she smiled, though her eyes were filled with tears. “I find myself wishing you were here, more and more often these days,” she continued, moving to sit on the stone bench in the aisle. She sat in silence for a while before she felt the cold sinking into her bones. 

Standing she grabbed the torch and left the crypts, crossing the courtyard through the snow and into the house. 

“Are you warm?” Tywin was there the moment she entered the foyer. “I was about to come for you.”

“I am warm,” she assured him, kissing him softly. He reached out to cup her cheek, the warmth in his eyes making her smile. Gone was the cold, withdrawn Duke that she had married, and in his stead was a caring, warm man. 

“Next time, you can wear my cloak---”

“Ty” she laughed softly. “I was born here, raised here. If anyone should be worried about the cold, its you.”

“I am not the one carrying a babe” he kissed her softly, pulling her into his arms. 

“I am well, husband” she promised as he kissed her once more. 

While he hadn’t told her that he loved her, she could feel his affection in his touch, his kiss and the way he took her slowly, gently, as if he wanted to savour every moment. He cared for her, in his own way, and she would be content knowing that the man she loved so deeply held at least some care for her. 

The sound of someone coughing pulled them apart and Sansa turned to see her father watching them, his face red with embarrassment. 

“Father” she said softly. 

“Dinner is ready,” he said sheepishly. 

“Thank you” she smiled. “We will be there shortly,” she said and he returned to the dining room. Sansa moved to unbuckle her cloak and Tywin helped her move it from her shoulders, hanging it on the rack. He offered his arm and she took it with a smile, following him to the dining room. She took solace in his strength, leaning on him when she felt weakest and taking life from his touch. 

They shared a simple, rather taciturn meal with her father and brother, and Bran retired shortly after, leaving the three of them to adjourn to the library for a drink. When her father went to hand her a glass of port, she shook her head. 

“Thank you, but no” she replied. 

“No?” her father questioned. 

“I am with child, Father” she told him, feeling her cheeks heat. She glanced to Tywin who was gleaming with pride, as he had been since she told him. Boastful man. 

“Oh, lemon cake” her father set their glasses aside and she stood to hug him. “Are you happy?” he whispered to her as they embraced. 

“Very” she told him and when he released her he gave a nod before he turned to Tywin, shaking his hand. 

“My congratulations” her father nodded, raising his glass. 

“We are both quite pleased” Tywin said, raising his glass in toast. 

“Hoping for a son, then?” Lord Stark chuckled. 

“No” Tywin said and Sansa looked to her husband in surprise. “I have an heir. I find that I would very much like daughters as beautiful as their mother.”

She turned away, blinking back tears and schooling her expression before she turned to smile at her husband. Again he looked positively smug as he reclined in the wingback chair, an ankle crossed over the opposite knee and a glass of port in his hand. 

_I love you_ she hoped that her eyes spoke of her emotion. His lips twitched into a smile and she knew he understood her. 

That night as she brushed out her hair, she could feel Tywin’s eyes on her. Setting her brush down with a smile she turned to face him. He was already in bed, reclined against the headboard and watching her with leonin eyes. 

“Husband” she stood from the vanity, crossing to his side. She discarded her robe, leaving her fully nude, but no longer shy before him. Without her gown you could see the slight swell of her stomach, the barely-there evidence of the child that grew within her.

“You’re beautiful” he offered his hand and helped her into the bed with him. He settled her legs astride his lap, their chests pressed together. His hands roamed from the curve of her buttocks up her back and into her hair. 

“And you are quite smug” she ran her hands over his chest. 

“I suppose I am” he agreed with a smirk. “Though, I have quite a lot to be smug about” he reasoned. “I’ve married you, haven’t I?”

“And given me a child within five moons” she laughed softly. 

“Perhaps that daughter you so ache for” he said softly, running his hands through her hair. 

“How did you know?” she asked. 

“I didn’t, not until tonight in the library” he said honestly. “Your eyes give away your every secret.”

“Do they?”

“They do, and now that I have learned how to read them, I believe it will be quite a useful tool,” he smiled. “They will help to ensure I keep my Duchess satisfied.”

“And how do you plan to do that, my Lord Husband?” she inquired, leaning forward to kiss him softly. 

“Quite simple really” he ran his hands back to the cheeks of her ass and ground her against his manhood. “Pleasure, lots and lots of pleasure.” 

“As my Lord Husband wishes” she stroked his bearded cheek, loving the feel of the whiskers of his beard. She briefly wondered how she had gotten so fortunate in her choice of husband. Of course, at the time there was no ‘choice’, but still, Tywin was more than she could have hoped for. 

“As I wish?” he asked as he slipped a hand between them, stroking her folds. Months ago she would have been embarrassed for already being so wet for him, but his growl of approval only made her smile. She rose over him and he aligned himself to her channel, guiding her as she sank onto him with a sigh. “Perfection” he ran his hands over her body, his touch sending shivers through her body. 

“Ty” she sighed, carefully rocking over him. She moved slowly, unhurried and uncaring that they were under her father’s roof. This was her husband and there was no shame in being with your husband. His hands traveled to her breasts, cupping the weight and teasing the jeweled peaks until she felt the touch echo in her body. 

“Good girl” he praised as she sped her pace, her body a slave to the pleasure that his brought her. She focused on riding him, while his hands focused on roaming and memorizing her body, her flesh. 

“Tywin” she gasped as his thumb stroked her where they were joined. She recognized the sensation now, and it no longer scared her, the build of her peak and the waves of pleasure it would bring. Bracing her hands on his chest she rode him hard and fast now, uncaring if her gasps and cries could be held in the hall or beyond. 

“Come” he ordered and her body obeyed before her mind could tell it to, her inner muscles clamping around him as she bowed over him. 

She felt, rather than heard, his grunt and then he was spilling into her, hands locked on her thighs and holding her to his body. Collapsing across his chest, she panted for air, trailing soft kisses across his shoulder. 

“I love you” she whispered, unable to swallow back the words any longer. 

“And I you” he kissed her temple and she sighed, smiling deeply. She had been alone for so long but she would never be alone again. 

“Your Grace” the butler’s voice broke into her music and she paused her playing to face him. 

“Yes, Addam?”

“There is a Lord Baelish here asking for you” he frowned. 

“I do not wish to see him” she replied, wringing her hands before they settled over her largely swollen stomach. Soon she would no longer be able to reach the keys of her piano, though perhaps soon their child would be joining the world. She was so excited, she could hardly wait. 

“He is quite insistent---”

“Addam” she frowned. “How long until my husband is back?”

Addam paused, “Within the quarter hour, he is always punctual.”

“Then escort Lord Baelish to the parlor, I will join him shortly, but Addam” she said. “I want you at the door, please, I do not wish to be alone with him.”

Addam nodded, “Of course, Your Grace” he bowed and excused himself from the room. She took several breaths and steeled herself to face him. 

Carefully standing she cupped the swell of her stomach, her body dominated by the bulge of her child now. She moved from the piano and down the hall, nodding to Addam at the door before finding Lord Baelish seated nonchalantly in the parlor. 

He stood at her entry, his eyes lingering on her stomach before he smiled at her, “Lady Lannister.” 

“Lord Baelish” she replied. “What brings you to Casterly Rock?” she asked. 

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop to rest my horse” he motioned to the chair and she gratefully sat within sight of the door. “May I offer my congratulations” he looked pointedly at her stomach. 

“Lord Baelish---”

“I never expected Lord Lannister to marry” Baelish interrupted her. “And much to my surprise he steals away the most beautiful woman in the _ton_” he said. “One decidedly unworthy of him, yet far too lovely to be chained to an old man.”

“Lord Baelish---”

“I loved your mother, you know” he said suddenly. “Your father knew, that is why he refused to give you to me---”

She pushed herself to her feet, “I believe our visit is at an end,” she told him and his expression turned cold. 

“No, I do not believe so” he stood quicker than she expected and grabbed her elbow roughly. Because of her advanced pregnancy her balance was not what it should be and she stumbled, nearly falling.

“Unhand me this instant” she demanded, her tone reaching Addam who then stepped inside the parlor. “Addam, please escort Lord Baelish---” 

“I think not” Baelish stated, hauling her closer against him, his grip bruising.

“Addam!” Sansa cried out as she pushed Baelish away. The butler was there in a flash, helping her to break herself free of him and then Addam was between her and a scowling Baelish. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Tywin’s deep, angry voice cut into the fray. 

“Lord Lannister---” Baelish started but Addam cut him off. 

“Lord Baelish was just leaving” Addam glared and Baelish gave a small nod before fleeing the parlor. 

“Ty” Sansa swallowed her tears. She had felt Baelish’s intent, the sick ridge of his manhood as he hauled her closer. 

“Sansa” he cupped her cheeks. “He was going to rape me” she whispered, tears threatening to spill over. “Or try…..he was hard…”

Tywin cursed softly, “He won’t make it back to the city,” he promised, glancing back to Addam where the two men shared a dark look. Addam then gave a nod and was gone, moving with purpose from the parlor. 

“Addam didn’t leave my side,” Sansa grimaced as her stomach contorted in pain. “Ow…” she hissed, grabbing her stomach and leaning into her husband’s strength.

“You need to lay down” he wrapped an arm around her and helped her from the room to the stairs. They were half way up when she cried out, feeling the trickle of her waters down her leg.

“Ty” she gasped in panic at the puddle on the marble. “It’s time…”

“Its either early or you are further along than we anticipated” he gave her a reassuring smile, helping her to their chambers. “I will be right back” he helped her to sit before moving back to the hall, his booming voice calling for maids and servants alike. 

Sansa was focused on the tightness around her stomach, the sharp pain in her back and the fear coursing through her. 

Their child would be here soon and she had no idea how to be a mother, she nearly sobbed. She wished more than anything that her mother could be with her, that she wasn’t alone. Before the tears could spill Tywin was back, kneeling before her and helping her remove her shoes. 

“I am afraid” she told him softly. 

“If you want me with you, I will not leave you” he promised and she gave a sharp nod as she gasped in pain once more. 

“Your Grace” the maids rushed in, arms laden with clean clothes and freshwater. 

“All will be well” Tywin promised, taking her hand to kiss her palm. 

Tywin did not leave her side, as promised. He held her hand, smoothed her hair and made sure she drank water while she labored to bring their child into the world. In the dead of night the cries of their child echoed into the room, Sansa laugh-crying in relief as her body relaxed against his. 

“A daughter, Your Grace” the midwife smiled, helping to clean the babe before wrapping her and placing her in Sansa’s arms. 

“A daughter” Sansa sobbed softly, clutching the babe tight.

“She is beautiful” Tywin smiled down at the squalling babe in his wife’s arms. 

“She is ours” Sansa smiled, stroking the babes cheek. 

“That she is” Tywin held his girls close, kissing his wife’s temple and thanking the Gods that he had not lost her to childbed. 

Hours later found them in the master’s bed, Sansa nursing their daughter and Tywin watching them with a soft smile. 

“Catya” Sansa smiled, looking into their daughter’s bright blue eyes. 

“A suitably lovely name” he agreed, knowing how much she missed her mother and sister. 

“I wanted a daughter, so badly” Sansa stroked the babe’s cheek. 

“I know, my dear” he said. “One day she will be as beautiful as you.” 

“As us” she smiled. “Golden hair, perhaps.”

“A little lion cub” he chuckled. 

“Did you imagine such?” she asked him. “Such happiness when you bartered for me?”

“Bartered” he scoffed. “There was no barter. You _are_ mine, Sansa. There is no mistake in that.”

“I am yours and you are mine” she smiled over at him. 

“Always.”

“Always.”

“Catya, come back!” Alysanne called after her older sister. 

“Slow poke!” Catya laughed, running through the courtyard of Casterly Rock, a smile on her face as she bolted for her father’s study, running along the veranda. She burst through the doors and ran to her father’s side, laughing as Alysanne entered a few seconds later. 

The Great Lion looked up from his letters with a smile to see his daughters as they burst into the study. Catya and Alysanne, now ten and eight respectively, were copies of their mother, but with the Lannister look. A fact that Jaime resented him for, often laughing that he was going to have his hands full as the protective older brother when the girls came of age. 

“Unfair!” Alysanne laughed, moving to her father’s other side. 

“You’re slow!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!” Catya laughed at her sister, leaning over to kiss her father’s cheek. 

“Girls” Tywin smiled. “What mischief are you up to today?” 

“Nothing, father” Catya smiled innocently. 

“Mmmhmm” he chuckled as yelling sounded outside. He turned in time to see Gerold, Alysanne’s twin, burst through the veranda doors, soaked and covered in leaves. 

“I hate sisters!” Gerold declared, shaking the leaves from his golden-fire hair. “Why do I have to have sisters!” 

Catya laughed, “Without us you’d be bored.”

“I would not!” Gerold glared and stormed through the study and into the hall. “Mother!” he yelled as he stomped away.

“Girls” Tywin chided. “Do try to be a little nicer, eh? Because Jaime will be here in a sennight, and you know that he will help Gerold get revenge.”

Catya frowned, “There are still 3 of us, and two of them.”

“Yes but Ellyn is too young for mischief” Tywin reasoned, reminding them that their youngest sister, who was only four, was a bit young for their tricks. 

“Four if you count Cersei” Alysanne frowned. 

“I do not. She’s so dreadfully boring” Catya sighed and Tywin couldn’t help but laugh. Cersei had gone from being the only daughter to the oldest of four and she didn’t enjoy sharing the spotlight. Fortunately for them she was occupied with her own marriage and children and didn’t often visit the Rock. Jaime, however, visited often. 

“Girls” Sansa’s voice chided as she entered the study. “Shouldn’t you be working on your lessons instead of torturing your brother?”

“It’s not torture” Alysanne explained. “It was payback for the frog in my bed!”

“I see” Sansa smiled, glancing to Tywin. “Go on, back to your lessons, and be nice” she instructed. Both girls kissed their father’s cheek before bolting away, leaving Tywin to smile at his wife of over a decade. She moved into the study and when she rounded his desk he pulled her onto his lap, “Husband” she kissed him softly. “Why is it they always run to you when they know they’re going to be in trouble?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea” he smirked. 

“Ah” she nodded skeptically. “Little troublemakers, your cubs are.”

“They get that from your side, I am certain.” 

She laughed, shaking her head, “Absolutely not.” 

“Soon Ellyn will join in,” he chuckled. “We’ll have our hands full.”

“Thankfully there is plenty of room for them to run themselves exhausted. I do so love hearing the house filled with laughter” she leaned her forehead against his jaw. 

“You’re about to tell me you want another baby” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. 

“You have this uncanny ability to read my mind” she kissed his cheek. 

“We have been married for some time now,” he smiled. “I’d give you a dozen children, should you want that many.”

“One more, I think” she reasoned. “5 is a nice number.”

“Anything you want, Little Wolf” he paused. “Perhaps a brother for poor Gerold, he is terribly outnumbered.” 

Sansa laughed, “He will be picking leaves out of his hair for hours.” A crash and then laughter echoed in the house and they shared a glance. “I should make sure they’re not destroying the house.”

Turning he kissed her softly, “I love you, Little Wolf.”

“I love you, Ty” she stroked his bearded cheek before she stood. He watched her go, enjoying the sway of her hips in her muslin gown and the way her hair hair shone like fiery silk. Marrying her was the best decision he had ever made, one of selfish indulgence and impulse, but one that had brought life back to his existence. 

Laughter filled the air once more and he smiled as he returned to his letters. Casterly Rock was filled with Lannisters once more, as he hoped it would be for many generations to come.

**Author's Note:**

> A few musical links for your listening pleasure….
> 
> Sansa’s Noctunes:  
https://youtu.be/wygy721nzRc  
Piano “The Rains of Castamere” :  
https://youtu.be/t8-DKdTqEZk  
“The Rains of Castamere” female vocals:  
https://youtu.be/iiCIz2Lz8dE  
Lannister Jam:  
https://youtu.be/rALCyuFdUGk


End file.
